God among insects
by Cliia
Summary: Pyro's thoughts during X2. A companion piece to Cold Also Burns and So Close Yet So Far Away. I don't own anything here, though I often wish I did.


God among Insects  
  
"What's your real name?"  
"Pyro."  
  
You know, looking at him, I wondered if there was much of a difference between the bad guys and the good guys. I had heard that he nearly killed Rogue, but so did Logan. No one talks about it much, but I sometimes see the strain of it on both of their faces when they think they are alone. Near death binds you to one another almost as much as death itself. If Magneto were our sworn enemy, why would Scott and the professor visit him nearly every week like clockwork? I also didn't really understand how they would let him and Mystique sit unsupervised in the back of the plane, even after he kept us from being squashed like bugs.  
  
Sitting next to him, I was reminded of moths and flames. It wasn't the safest place and maybe that's why I was content. Staring at Bobby's mementos, I knew that I didn't fit in. I wasn't made to fit into that. Though part of me had to laugh after Bobby found he couldn't have the perfect life complete with All-American family and younger brother either. I know I laughed when his brother tried to turn us in. I looked back and wanted him to see the possibilities we possessed from the dubious safety of his windowed perch. For a second, I considered scorching the paint so he'd remember, but I mean, it was Bobby's house and there are times for discretion  
  
When the cops came, I burned. For over a day I had been running for my life when I hadn't really done anything except be born. The paramilitary squad that came tearing into our home probably wouldn't be punished. Seeing the damage Logan was dealing, I wished I were the one in control of the pain. To that moment, I wasn't sure if everyone had even survived the onslaught. Soldiers versus children. I wanted to meet the cops on the same level. Let them look me in the eye and let them see that they were the weak ones, but I wanted to do it on the same level in the sunlight eye to eye.  
  
The mutant problem? Don't make me laugh. There isn't a problem. It's not my fault that I can feel the life in fire and they can't. I used to wish they could feel the flames writhe around their hands, caressing them, and keeping their hearts warm. Then, I realized that I'm glad they can't. I know I'm alive when it rings my fingertips and rides my rage. It's mine, my life-long companion. I feel wounded when it's not at hand. My biggest disappointment is that I can't create it, I can only call it. This flaw keeps me from fitting in the land of world-changing mutants, and I'm certainly not human. There's no place to call my own.  
  
I watch Bobby and Marie clinging to each other through layers of cloth in an attempt to reach teenage levels of completion. It's ridiculous and it won't change a thing. Rogue could kill him if she touches him for too long. One moment too long and he'll be as cold as the ice he sculpts and she'll be destroying heat like she destroyed him. Unlike their transitional whispers, the flames will never desert me. Listening to the hushed metal hinge of my lighter click while opening and closing sounds better to me than those teenaged whispered nothings. ::click::  
  
After the X-Men left us to rot as though we were mere children, I watched Bobby try to comfort Rogue. It's hard to think either of them had the fortitude to make it this far. Bobby used to be one of the first to pull pranks or support me in mine, but that was before he found Rogue. I was uncertain when I left the plane if they would come running behind me or if they would placate each other with empty promises and phantom touches. I had much rather find Striker and shove his head down his throat. However, in my heart of hearts, I could hear the fire chanting. What I truly wanted to do was to run my fingers through the ash of his corpse.  
  
The cold burned as I trudged to the dam. I know I could have dressed better and I made a note to always be better prepared. Better clothing to hand the world its ass if I needed to. I was lost when the world switched axis and my knees collapsed. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, as my insides felt like they were losing their cohesion. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stand and I was alone.  
  
At that moment writhing on the ice, I thought of Bobby and how he wasn't there. The late night chats of friendship forever were lost as the ice found its way down my shirt and pressed my skin, reminding me of practical jokes from the communal showers at the Institute. I promised myself to find people that would accept me for me rather than pretending to be a sheep in a world of wolves.  
  
As suddenly as I collapsed, I found myself restored. Standing, I tore the ice from my clothes. I wanted no reminder of weakness. Near the tracks of my agony I saw a spider building her web unaware that I nearly perished. ::click:: The rush of heat was welcomed after the burning cold, I hope she remembered on her funeral pyre that I am a god among insects. 


End file.
